


Mistreatment

by OwlQuill



Series: [Mirror Universe] [2]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Fantasy Racism, mirror au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlQuill/pseuds/OwlQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you asked the goblins, they would tell you the fairies have been waging a war on them for generations.</p><p>If you asked the fairies about it, they would tell you you can't wage a war on <i>animals</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Start of a story that grew out of musings when abutterflyobsession asked people to come up with "mirror universe" ideas. Tags will be updated as chapters are added.

The Dark Forest did not honour its name. Dancing flecks of sunlight dappled the ground and ponds and puddles, a steady, light breeze keeping the temperature pleasant. This close to the fairies’ territory, relaxing to enjoy it might be a mortal mistake, but no goblin in this patrol was likely to make it.

The sound of wind combing the treetops giving him some confidence that even if enemies were nearby, they would not hear his wings buzzing, Bog flew to keeping track of the two advance scouts. There had been no sightings of trouble, neither by the patrol today nor by the people of the warrens they visited, not even the last one, which was closest to the border.

Bog allowed himself to hope that their luck would hold. They were practically on their way back, only need to check on the Oakroot warren, which was further inside the forest and well hidden, then half of the patrol could head East and take a break from constant guard, to mere wariness.

Taking care to bring a bit of distance between the bulk of the patrol and himself first, Bog hovered in the comparatively clear space between undergrowth and canopy, looking around, alert for anything that did not quite fit.

He caught sight of movement, but it was Snarf. The advance scout, a goblin with a short trunk and red-brown skin, signalled him. Bog strained for speed, reaching Snarf as quickly as a thrown rock, and caught himself by bending his long legs.

Snarf’s eyes were even more round and big as usual, his voice quiet. “I smell smoke.”

“Oakroot?”

“That direction.” Snarf nodded, wrung his hands and shuffled his feet.

“Right.”

They put everyone on alert. The warren was too far away for smoke from cooking fires to travel that far, but there was no sound of fighting. The goblin patrol spread out again and moved as quickly as basic stealth allowed.

A thick rope of smoke rose from one of the highest doors between the roots of an old oak. Like all entrances, it should be hidden and camouflaged. Not a soul was to be seen.

Once he reached the edge of the weeds providing cover, even Bog caught a whiff of blood. Snarf’s ears were quivering.

“Is it safe?”

The whisper made the smaller goblin jump, but he answered, “I think it’s just smoke. I… I’ll check.”

He bolted off without waiting for confirmation. Bog scanned the surroundings, focusing on _up_ , looking for an ambush. The fairies shouldn’t know their schedule, but better overly cautious than dead.

Snarf raced up the tangle of roots fast as a squirrel and jumped into the still-smoking hole. Bog bit the inside of his cheek and kept watching for danger from the periphery. In this particular warren, he could not follow inside and help; It had been started by brownies and elves who’d later been joined by goblins about their size. Bog was too tall. The tight entrances and corridors might even keep fairies out. But smoking a warren out worked. 

Given that Snarf wasn’t screaming in panic, he must have been right about it being just smoke. When he faintly heard a call from far inside, Bog looked around for the someone who could check inside. Everyone was hidden well, lighting a spark of pride inside him.

“Orff! Go!”

The potato-shaped goblin burst out of her cover and put on a surprising turn of speed. Bog followed closely, then stood guard over the entrance, back towards the trunk of the tree.

The smoke was barely warm.

Bog kept his attention outward, not reacting to the occasional noises of his two people moving around from below. He could spot Big Gus, who’d taken cover under a fully spread toadstool. The canopy was alive with rustling wind, but the only flitting he spotted was a small moth, not a fairy.

After a short time Orff reemerged, and reported quietly, “Snarf found two bodies. Kids hid in a closet, and the smoke…”

Bog nodded. “Leave them for now. Get Snarf up here.”

By the time both were above ground again, Bog was as convinced that they were not being watched by the people who’d done this. But he had to know— ”How long?”

Snarf’s eyes were red, and he had to snap to focus. “What?”

“How long since they’ve gone?”

“Ah. Maybe an hour or a bit more. Less than two.”

After signalling Orff with a jerk of his head to get back to cover, Bog asked quietly, “Are you up for a hunt?”

It took Snarf a few watery blinks before he understood, then he drew himself up to his full height — about half of Bog’s — and nodded. “They took the bodies. Maybe we can get them back.”

Bog walked down the tangle of fused roots toward the undergrowth hiding his patrol and raised a hand as a signal to gather. Still just for Snarf he said, “Us getting back alive is more important.”


	2. Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fairy hunting party having a quiet little party.

The fairy hunting party had gathered in a sand pit not far from the forest’s edge. Not as close as the goblins would have liked, but close enough. Bog left the others behind in hiding in the washed out bank of a now almost dry rill, going to scout out the situation himself, because his wings gave him the best chance of getting away if discovered. The fairies had covered most of the pit with carpets and blankets. Apart from the path they had come by, grass and some other plants stood tall, which might give the place a secluded air, if you were not used to the nooks and shadows of the forest.

Bog moved slowly, using the tufts of grass for cover and observed.

The only one who tried to be on guard was a male in obnoxiously shiny, green armour, however he was being distracted by two women.

When Bog got close enough to make out their words, the older one addressed the armoured guard. “Such a shame you couldn’t take part in the hunt. I’m sure you would have brought home an impressive trophy.” “Too kind, my lady. But someone needs to watch out for stray goblins. We wouldn’t want anyone who did not volunteer a risk to get hurt.”

A high giggle from the younger woman stung Bog’s ears. “Don’t be so modest, Roland, I see your sparring quite often.” The girl attached herself to the knight’s arm. He patted her hand and looked at the grass briefly before giving her his attention.

The other other fairies were mostly standing or lounging or sitting on the higher side of the pit. They did not spare much attention for the dead.

The bodies were laid out to one side of the pit, sorted by species and size, all turned so they lay on their left sides. Sprigs of lavender blossoms lay close by, nearly covering the stink of death.

Bog kept breathing and wrenched his attention away from them. They would not move on their own; he had to observe their enemies, who would.

Closest to the callous display was a pair of female fairies, one with a blonde head gesticulating, flapping her orange wings, miming blows. Probably recounting her involvement in the slaughter. The other had darker hair, purple wings folded like a cape behind her, and brighter clothes — still green and brown, but more brilliant shades — and smiled at the other. There was a faint smear of blood across her chest, mirroring a dark splatter on the blonde’s shirt.

Bog could feel anger heating his guts, but kept breathing steadily, maintaining detachment. He carefully circled around the perimeter, away from the dead bodies and the half-grown girl celebrating being a murderer.

He counted four servants, their clothes in pale fog colours marking them among the hunters and guests in brown and green. There were a dozen hunters in duller shades and irregular cuts that would actually work for camouflage in the woods, and again as many guests, their clothes also brown and green, but in more brilliant hues, and in some cases decorated with gold edging or designs. 

Hiding behind a thistle, Bog crouched and settled to watch, to gauge if an attack was worth the risk. They would be outnumbered, and couldn’t assume only the hunters would fight back if attacked.

On the other hand, the fairies seemed anything but on guard. Standing or sitting or lounging in small groups, talking and laughing, eating… They were having an actual picnic. Bog would have a better view of things higher up, but he couldn’t risk being discovered by the buzz of his wings, so he did the best he could following the attention of those not focused on whoever was opposite them. It was erratic and slow, but there was an over-all direction to it. And at its centre, the leader of this hunting party, was a fairy with grey hair and deep red wings. When he turned his head to one of his fellows, Bog caught a decent look of his profile and smile.

His breath caught, suddenly every muscle in his body tense. That face, just with a shorter, brown beard, but the same proud smile. That same profile Bog had seen when King Dagda had put the last goblin king’s head on a spear and carried it off. Bog crouched down lower, resting one palm on the dry, crumbling soil, not drawing back when a few thistle spines scratched the skin on the inside of his other arm. Deep breaths. Stay here and now. The whiff of blood wanted to hook his memory and draw it back all the way, but as luck had it, the fairies had not lit a fire. That day, the forest had burned, and the clean smell of soil and green plants now was enough of a contrast.

“Daddy!” The blonde fairy shot across the pit, making Bog flinch a little deeper into the shadows. King Dagda caught her in a hug. “When do we decide which skull I can have for my wall?” Dagda laughed. “Let’s see which looks best when they’re cleaned, eh?”

Before hearing any more and maybe losing his temper, Bog retreated. He forced himself to not think ahead too much. Getting distracted and discovered on the way back to his team did not bear imagining.

There would be a fight today. On their terms, for once. And if everybody else wanted to turn around, Bog would let them. But he could not let a chance at taking out the fairies’ royal family pass, slim as it might be.


End file.
